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Dr. Bronce Rice's avatar

Alex - I rather like how you point out that when we “flinch” it's usually something deeper than our fear of being hurt but more the fear of being changed. Your thoughts leave me wondering how many times I end up redirecting or deflecting in a day without realizing what I am really avoiding. Your point about emotional hunger being mislabeled as weakness especially struck me.

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Alexander Lovell, PhD's avatar

It’s powerful how you’re tuning into those moments of flinching, my friend.

So often, it’s not just about fear of pain but the unsettling idea of shifting who we are. That awareness about redirecting or deflecting without realizing it is huge—those little defenses can sneak up on us. And yes, emotional hunger gets such a bad rap, when really it’s just our soul asking for what it needs. Thanks for sharing such a thoughtful reflection 🩵.

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Ilona Goanos's avatar

Your piece serves as a reminder for me today, and going forward to stay present, to notice automatic responses, and to be compassionate when I can't stop myself from succumbing to the old patterns. It's a lifelong process for me to rewrite the old neural pathways that my brain has created to keep me safe, which no longer serve me.

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Alexander Lovell, PhD's avatar

You’ve captured such a tender truth here, my friend. That awareness of those automatic responses and choosing compassion instead of judgment—it’s like giving your brain the gentle space to breathe and rewrite its story.

I love how you see it as a lifelong journey, not a quick fix. Keep leaning into that kindness with yourself. It’s powerful, and I’m cheering for you 🩵

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Laura's avatar

Dear Alex,

This piece really resonates with me while I'm navigating the new world of dating. I'm simultaneously caught between this feeling of wanting to show my full self (because I no longer want to hide this) and navigating the fear of the flinch from another human being. I know I am okay on my own, and yet, I am human, and I desire that connection with another person. I am no longer interested in manipulating connection and expression and yet I am afraid of scaring the connection away. I'm not really sure what the answer is other than to hold both of these seemingly conflicting realities as equal truth. I try to put my trust in life that this connection has been bought to me, and if they are "right" (whatever that means) then it won't scare them away. And yet I desire to control, manipulate and need to know. I don't want to let go.

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Alexander Lovell, PhD's avatar

Your honesty about holding those two truths at once—wanting to be fully seen and fearing the flinch—hits deep, my friend 🩵. It’s such a tender dance, that mix of craving connection while guarding your heart. The way you trust life to bring the “right” people even when control feels tempting shows so much courage. Keep honoring those messy, beautiful contradictions. You’re navigating this with more grace than you realize. Sending good energy your way.

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Beth L. Gainer's avatar

Hi Alex,

What a necessary piece in the world! I find that too many people I've known and know want to fix any problems I discuss, when all I want them to do is listen. I don't need them to fix my problems, but just to be there.

When my friend was dying of cancer, I learned to just be. She didn't need some positive talk or me to make her feel better emotionally. What she needed was for me to occupy the same space in her hospital room and just be. There were many times she and I were both silent, and these were some of the most intimate times of our friendship. The silent space between us was filled with our love for each other.

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Alexander Lovell, PhD's avatar

Thank you for sharing something so tender, my friend. Being able to just sit quietly with someone we love, especially in those heavy moments, is such a profound gift. I’m moved by your experience in that hospital room—the way silence can hold so much love and presence is truly something special. It’s a beautiful reminder that sometimes, just being there without words or fixes is exactly what’s needed. I so appreciate you sharing this beautiful story. It exemplifies, so perfectly, what I was trying to articulate in my piece 🩵

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Nancy Stordahl's avatar

Hi Alex,

Oh, that flinch. I know it well. It's note-worthy for me to realize that for years I've been talking about how it's better to be a witness for people who are hurting rather than trying to fix them. What I have neglected to do fairly often, is allow others to witness my hurt, success, or whatever it might be. As an introvert, making that connection - allowing that intimacy - is really hard. I avoid connection when it means I'm the one doing the revealing or being vulnerable. I'm good at withdrawing and retreating. I'm going to try to start noticing when I flinch. Can't say I'll change, but I'll try noticing the flinch. That I can do. Or try to anyway.

As a resident of Cancer Land these words resonate deeply: "This is what connection actually is: two people staying present to each other's reality without immediately managing it."

So often people want to be and try to be Fixers for someone who's hurting or struggling when fixing isn't what's needed or even possible. Telling your friend, "That sounds awful" was the perfect response.

Another good one, my friend. Thank you.

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Alexander Lovell, PhD's avatar

Wow, your honesty about that flinch really hit home for me, my friend 🩵. It’s wild how much easier it is to hold space for others than to let someone hold space for us, especially when we’re wired to retreat like you described. I'm such a fixer. I have a lot of work to do :)

Just noticing that flinch is such a brave and powerful start. Grateful you shared this with me.

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Nancy Stordahl's avatar

I appreciate your kind words and the space you’ve created to share these things. Most of us have a lot of work to do!

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360° Kindness's avatar

Morning, Alex. This is, in my opinion, as important a piece as I've read on this platform. Our ability to stay present to the flinch is, in essence, super self-awareness. We can't be seen if we are unaware that we are actively trying not to. Like the addict in recovery, until I can say my name is X and I'm a... we don't have a new place to walk toward. Awareness of the flinch is truly where the rubber hits the road. Thanks you for this remarkably astute observation. I think its a game changer.

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Alexander Lovell, PhD's avatar

What you said about naming ourselves and owning those moments of flinch hits me hard, my friend. It’s like until we truly face that reflex, that instinct to pull back, we’re stuck in the same patterns. Your connection to recovery makes so much sense—acknowledging who we are is the first step toward walking a new path. I’m really grateful you shared this insight with such clarity. I always look forward to your reflections, my friend. Thank you 🩵

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Teri Leigh 💜's avatar

Wow! "I'd been suffocating myself in conversations for years before the accident. The injury just made visible what my nervous system had been doing automatically: protecting itself from the metabolic cost of being fully present with another person."

I wonder if the reason we as a culture are dealing with so much disconnection and discord and divisiveness is simply because people are not breathing while talking!...which ultimately means they aren't listening...and all those moments of doors opening to connection are falling to the flinch and the door slam!

This piece shows one of the greatest benefits of the brain injury, a rewiring of that conversation while breathing mechanism.

I also now see why you and I have connected so easily. Something happens in the space when we are together where we both are able to fully breathe and enjoy space together so much so that time evaporates.

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Alexander Lovell, PhD's avatar

There’s something so powerful about how you described that! WOW... like we’ve all been holding our breath in conversations, not just physically but emotionally too. It’s wild to think the injury peeled back that layer and showed us what was really going on beneath the surface. I think you are so right. I'm like... floored.

And you’re right, my friend, those moments we share where time disappears feel like pure, unspoken breath and presence. I’m grateful for that space with you 🩵. Truly.

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Jeannie Ewing's avatar

Alex,

This is why I like to check in with my friends and say, "Hey, I'm thinking of you today." I want each one to know I see them. That I'm here. I'm listening. And my door is open without expectation of when, or how, or if they will reply.

So I'm telling you today: I see you. I'm here with you, friend.

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Alexander Lovell, PhD's avatar

That simple "I'm thinking of you today" carries so much love and presence—it’s a beautiful reminder that sometimes just being there, without any pressure, is the kindest gift. I see you too, and I’m grateful for this moment (and the many moments that) we get to share.

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Nancy A's avatar

I'm very introverted and have always hid from being seen emotionally. I had no choice but to allow others into my world when my husband died, as I would have drowned without their lifelines. And while I haven't completely resorted to those old ways, I do find it happening more and more over the 15 years since. I think it may also be connected to my "Helper/Nurturer" personality. Thanks for the insights!

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Alexander Lovell, PhD's avatar

Your journey through such deep loss with that quiet strength is truly something, my friend 🩵 It’s amazing how you recognized needing others as lifelines and let them in, even when your natural instinct is to pull back. That tension between your introversion and your Helper heart must be so complex. Thank you for sharing this tender part of yourself—it means a lot. 🩵

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Fierce Goat's avatar

Thank you so much for this piece. It really spoke to my heart!

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Alexander Lovell, PhD's avatar

It means the world to hear that this touched your heart, my friend 🩵 Your words truly brighten my day.

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Karen Sutherland's avatar

This makes sense. I wonder to what degree we all recognise ourselves and those we care about, those we work with (the two aren’t necessarily the same but could be).

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Alexander Lovell, PhD's avatar

You’re touching on something really interesting, my friend. It’s wild how the people we work with can sometimes feel like family, and other times feel totally different from those closest to our hearts. Recognizing ourselves in both spaces can be tricky but so important. Thank you for bringing that up—it’s a reminder to be gentle with how we see and connect with others, no matter where they fit in our lives 🩵.

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Wendy Hawkes's avatar

Thank you for this gift -- I have shared it with my daughter, 26 today, and it may be one of the sweetest, most important birthday presents I've ever given her.

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Alexander Lovell, PhD's avatar

What a beautiful way to celebrate your daughter’s 26th birthday, my friend! It means so much to hear that this gift found a special place between you two. Moments like that are pure magic, and I’m honored it could be part of your celebration. Sending you both so much love and joy today 🩵 Keep sharing those meaningful treasures!

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Sandra Pawula's avatar

Alex, This feels like a tricky discussion for me, being neurodivergent. I enjoy interactions with a few close friends, but do I need to go deeper with more people, especially if my brain is not designed that way? Your thoughts about emotional self-sufficiency however, struck a chord. A spent a good part of my life being the person with all the answers, but that's not a healthy role.

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Alexander Lovell, PhD's avatar

Thank you for sharing that so honestly, my friend 🩵 It’s beautiful how you honor your need for a smaller circle—it’s not about how many, but how meaningful those connections feel to you. However, sometimes a gentle challenge can also open our eyes to new truths (from one neurodivergent to another).

Being the “person with all the answers” can be exhausting, and recognizing that is such a brave step toward gentler boundaries. Your awareness of emotional self-sufficiency shows deep wisdom.

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Marisol Muñoz-Kiehne's avatar

Recoil reflex? Breathe~

Stay with the flinch, Alex says.

Don’t deflect, reflect*

...

True intimacy,

intimidating, risky.

Worth taking the chance.

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Alexander Lovell, PhD's avatar

I love how you captured that dance with the recoil reflex and the courage it takes to breathe into that flinch, my friend 🩵. It’s like every moment we choose reflection over deflection, we inch closer to something real and raw. True intimacy does feel like stepping onto thin ice, but oh, how worth it that risk becomes when we dare to stay present. Thanks for sharing this beautiful reminder.

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Virginia Curtis's avatar

This resonates. A protection that becomes an automatic wall/flinch. I have a filter through which all connection goes. Both directions. I read the room, the vibe, the intention in the person's eyes. Do they mean me harm, are they simply curious, or looking for ammunition to blast me with later??

Emotional hunger has been repressed for so long, I have to consciously open myself to receiving. The default is always (or nearly always) the wall. Thank you for this. Love, Virg

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